


All You Need

by TheNarator



Series: Siren of the Sky [3]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarator/pseuds/TheNarator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So did anyone else notice that during that carriage ride in French-occupied London during Victory of Eagles there was so much jelly in that carriage you could stick a lid on it and call it a jam jar?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Need

"Better if we go alone," Tharkay had said when he'd surveyed the other candidates for the mission. They were all very young, and he would not have taken any of them regardless, but had they all been seasoned spies he would have said exactly the same thing. Granby was a friend, one which Tharkay did not wish to see hurt or in the hands of the enemy, but the idea of being Laurence's sole companion for any length of time was too tempting to pass up under any circumstances.

"You are not obliged-" Laurence had said, gallantly and with a note of real worry in his voice, as if it were Tharkay's well-being that needed looking after. He was the only one who had thought so in a long time.

"No," Tharkay had cut him off with a raised eyebrow, and Laurence had submitted to his judgement. Tharkay suspected that Laurence might have even understood his reason for coming, or at least one of the reasons.

He knew perfectly well that Laurence meant to die on this mission, and Tharkay would let Temeraire claw him to pieces before he let Laurence go into enemy territory with a companion who wouldn't keep an eye to that.

"They may already have sent Granby to France, of course," he'd said in Chinese, in the back of a cart on their way into the city. Laurence had fumbled to answer him in that tongue, likely thinking he was stumbling over the pronunciation worse than he was, to preserve the privacy of their conversation. Tharkay would not deny that such privacy thrilled him just a little, and it had distracted Laurence from his melancholic contemplation of the empty air to his left. The dead expression in his eyes had made Tharkay feel slightly sick.

Once they were in the city and had begun searching for Granby Tharkay had once more proved his worth, able to find information more easily than Laurence and rule out the possibilities that Granby was in prison or on his way to France. As usual he'd felt a ridiculous warmth in his chest at Laurence's gratitude, as though the mere act of helping Laurence,  _pleasing_  Laurence, was enough to make him happy. It was dreadfully unbecoming for a lone wanderer like himself to get so much satisfaction out of being useful to a man who would cheerfully have been shot for his country even if it was the King himself firing the gun, but the almost untoward intensity of his devotion to Laurence was something he'd long since stopped thinking about.

When Laurence had described Bonaparte as 'unreasonably fond of seduction,' conceding that a single meeting was not a good foundation on which to base his conjecture, Tharkay had felt an oddly strong curiosity about that encounter. Exactly what kind of 'seduction' had he practiced upon Laurence, and how effective had it been? The Emperor of France did not seem the type to play coy. Such a question was useless however, and the emotion behind it wholly unreasonable. The very idea of envying Napoleon Bonaparte a nonexistent grip on Laurence's heart was laughable.

Far less laughable was envy of Edith Woolvey, and the very real grip she had on Laurence's heart.

Laurence almost certainly hadn't noticed it, but his mouth had fallen open when she'd descended the staircase. Had the other men in the room been paying Tharkay any attention at all they might have remarked on the way he looked back and forth between her and Laurence, the dread in his heart almost certainly showing on his face. He had known, obviously, that Laurence had a physical relationship with Captain Roland, but he'd understood that she was mostly casual about it, and had almost fooled himself into believing that Laurence had never loved anyone. He should have been more prepared for evidence to the contrary, he  _should_ have, but nothing could have prepared him from the way Laurence  _looked_ at her.

"Why in God's name have you not left the city?" Laurence had demanded of her husband, voice full of anger and worry and helpless fear that made Tharkay's throat close.

Being called a Chinaman had given him something to be properly indignant about, but the way she took control of the exchange from her husband so firmly, so expertly made his anger settle back into despair. He'd tried to look at the situation practically: they had no plan, Woolvey had horses, it was in their best interest to stay and see what could be gained from the situation. That had not made it any easier not to notice the way she and Laurence looked at each other, the way their voices softened when they spoke to each other.

She called him by his  _Christian name._ Not even _Granby_  called him by his Christian name.

Laurence calling him 'one good man, better than a dozen of lesser ability' could make even being referred to as a 'havey-cavey fellow' nearly worth the wounds, but it was small comfort when he had to see Laurence watching Edith and her husband talk quietly together, a longing in his eyes that Tharkay would have killed better men than Woolvey to have for himself. They couldn't even escape the house, leave Laurence's lost love behind and in the past, without her damned fool of a husband insisting on coming with them.

"He may find his neck in a noose for it afterwards, but that is his concern, and those who would weep for him." He looked at Laurence, at his conflicted expression, at the pain in those eyes that bespoke an affection that taught Tharkay once more what it was to  _crave_. "Although those may be of interest to you also."

That was how he had ended up in this carriage, watching Laurence and Woolvey each be unbearably jealous of the other's relationship with Edith, while Tharkay fumed quietly off to one side.

Curiously, Tharkay did not hate her. There was no point in hating her, even if she deserved it, which she had already proven she did not. She wasn't cruel, or dismissive, or even a simpering society girl, all of which would have made it easier to justify hating her. She cared for Laurence, as Laurence obviously cared for her, and there was no point to the hot, bitter jealousy clawing its way up his throat. She was clever, and stalwart, and brave, and Tharkay might have liked her under any other circumstances.

But because Laurence  _loved_ her . . .

She knew Laurence, and knew him well, well enough to know that his so-called treason had been both genuine and justified, and that he would never lie but for a very noble purpose. They had obviously known each other a long time. They had memories together, memories that Tharkay would never know or share. She knew a side of Laurence that Tharkay had not witnessed, might  _never_  witness, and that made his heart clench with painful longing. It was no use telling himself that he, likewise, had seen a side of Laurence she would never know. What did that matter, when Laurence spent his time with Tharkay thinking of her? Until an hour ago he had been able to command Laurence's full attention; this very evening Laurence had looked at him with worry in his eyes, concern for his safety on such a dangerous errand. Now Laurence would not even look at him, his mind full of Mrs. Woolvey and the time when, doubtless, she might have been Mrs. Laurence. Now all Laurence's worry and concern was for her, and for her fool of a husband because of what he meant to her.

This adventure had been meant to pull Laurence out of his despair. He was supposed to have spent this night with Tharkay alone, the two of them accomplishing something together, a reminder of all the good that Laurence might still do in the world. Laurence was meant to see the dawn knowing once more that there were still those in the world who valued him, who would fight beside him, who would suffer if he were to die. Instead he was now thinking of the past, of what was lost, of a woman who would in no way be effected by his death, and indeed might benefit from it as a means to quell her pining for something she could never have. Laurence was focused on her, when he was meant to be focused on Tharkay.

It was all excuses though, really. He could tell himself all he liked that this excursion had been about proving something to Laurence, but more than anything it had been about being  _alone_ with Laurence. It was a pleasure he hadn't enjoyed since Istanbul, and he'd jumped at the chance to have it again. Perhaps it was selfish, to want Laurence's attention all to himself, but he could have so little else of the man it had seemed a small thing to ask.  This felt almost like divine retribution, seeing these stolen hours with Laurence stolen away again. Not for the first time he wondered if he simply wasn't meant to have anything. Anything of value, anyway.

This brought an old fear again to his mind; was it perhaps that Laurence did not wish to think of him? He had often wondered if Laurence might have realized Tharkay's feelings and come to resent him for them. Laurence was far too gentlemanly, too honor-bound, to send him away for such a thing. He would simply suffer through the unwanted company, swallowing his discomfort like every other injustice and indignity that had been heaped upon him. The idea of making Laurence so miserable made Tharkay want to be sick. The idea of never seeing Laurence again . . .

He shook himself. Laurence had noticed nothing. If he were observant enough to see Tharkay's feelings, so carefully hidden behind his mask of indifference, then so too would he have noticed Woolvey next to him being just as jealous of Laurence's history with Edith as Laurence was of Woolvey's current life with her. He would not be sitting there so miserable, feeling so inferior, if he knew that Woolvey was the one who failed to measure up. Laurence did not realize how valuable, how valued, he really was. Woolvey would never be able to compete.

That, above all, was what Laurence needed to know right now, and admitting that fact to himself made Tharkay want to tell him. He shouldn't be surprised; knowing what Laurence needed of him always made him want to give it, wholeheartedly and without asking anything in return. Even when it worked against him.

"It would be difficult to follow an officer of some public repute, in the affections of a woman who loves courage," he speculated once they were out of the wretched carriage.

"My reputation is hardly such as any sensible man would covet," Laurence insisted, and the surprise and confusion on his face were heartbreaking.

_You don't know how much you are coveted,_  Tharkay thought.  _You don't know how wonderful you are._

"It does not call you a coward," was what he said. "Whatever has Bertram Woolvey done?"

Laurence did not answer him.


End file.
